Heavenly Cafe
by PaperMango
Summary: AU- Sam is a new employee at a cafe (Stanford Era). He must deal with his jokester/slacker coworker Dean, who is seemingly absent, and meet the manager of the whole operation, a mysterious man named Castiel. One-Shot.


Sam clocked in to Heavenly Cafe ten minutes before his shift started. This was his first day, so perfection was punctuality. Well, punctuality and not spilling coffee everywhere or accidentally killing a customer or something. That would be the definition of a bad start. He took a deep breath, straightened his Heavenly Cafe apron and cheesy red berret and stepped behind the counter. He stood sentinel at the cash, friendly smile emblazoned on his face for ten minutes.

Ten entire minutes.

Just smiling.

Waiting.

_A customer could come through the door at any minute, _he thought.

He would be ready.

He would take their order.

And he would get it right. So right, that by the end of the month, his face would be front and center on the staff bulletin board, EMPLOYEE OF THE MONTH (all caps) printed over his head in the Manager's blocky red pen.

"Wow, dude. Don't strain. You might shit yourself."

A tall (but not as tall as Sam) guy with the kind of build that girls probably talked about and the kind of mussed hair and accidental-on-purpose stubble that made him 'hot', leaned casually against the freezer, a grin plastered across his face. Sam wracked his brain for the word. Smug? Pompous? No... smarmy. He'd seen the look. This guy was probably some sort of alpha beta zeta cappa frat idiot whose parents were lawyers and one of those guys who thought a job at the local coffee shop would pick him up chicks.

"First day on the job?" he asked as he pulled a slice of pie from the display case and took a bite.

Sam nodded, "Should you be eating that? I mean, isn't it kind of for sale... like, for customers?"

The guy shoveled a huge chunk of crust and cream into his gob, "Yesh," he nodded, spraying whipped cream far enough to splatter the yellow halo on Sam's red apron.

He didn't know whether to report this guy to the manager or play it cool. He didn't want to be the stuck up asshole. First impressions were everything.

In a matter of minutes, the guy had finished his slice, and was ready to chat. "So, you're new," he grinned, "Good luck. Job's crap," he clapped Sam on the shoulder, "I mean, crap pay, crap benefits, crap food, crap uniforms," Sam noticed that this joker had rolled up his beret and tied it in an artfully conical shape front and center of his apron. He had also written 'suck mine' above, so that it was blatantly obvious that the beret was supposed to be a penis.

Sam wondered how this kid was still hired.

"My name's D-"

"Dean!" came a shout from the back of the store. A man's dark haired head appeared from behind the office door, "I need to see you in... my office."

Dean raised a fist in agreement. "We'll continue our talk later, Smiley." Dean winked, "Careful of the 4:30 rush!" he called sing-song as he disappeared behind the office door.

A vague and corrosive apprehension was beginning to gnaw at Sam's stomach. Was this going to be his work life? Standing rigid at the cash, watching some douche eat the pie they were supposed to be selling?

He checked his watch. 4:29. 4:29:30. 4:29:59- _ding!_

A woman in her mid-forties strolled in the door. She was lean and professional, wearing an expensive power suit and black stiletto heels. She also redefined 'big-hair'. Her luxurious blonde locks were piled out and up and everywhere to new heights. Sam actually worried that she might get caught on the door. She approached the counter and observed the menu. "Hm," she said, unsatisfied, "I'd like a triple-extra-large, cappuccino with soy not milk and a three inch layer of foam. On top of that I'd like you to add an extra jolt of caffeine."

"Okay," Sam grinned, happy to help. He had this down. T_rippleextralargecapsoy3inchfoamextracaffeine,_ he chanted mentally. _ding!ding!ding!_ the entrance bell chimed. This really was a rush! Sam didn't look up until he'd placed the buisness-woman's cappuccino on the counter, rung her in, given her exact change and wished her a nice day. That was when he saw the line.

"Wow," he told the next customer, an elderly woman who ordered a hot cocoa, "That Dean guy wasn't joking about the 4:30 rush!"

Sam managed to stay on top of things until 5:00 when the Cafe was full of steam and couples and he realized that he had made a huge mess. _I can handle this,_ he thought, _I clean up the kitchen at the apartment all the time! _So he began to tidy. He cleaned the counters, wiped up the spilt milk beneath the milk machine and cleared away the used tea bags.

Trouble struck when he hit the coffee machines which Sam thought he knew how to clean.

He didn't.

His mistake was an honest one. He thought that the red button meant 'open' but really, it meant start. The only problem was, he'd taken the coffee pots out to wash, and they were now in the sink drying. As hot coffee started pouring out of the machine, Sam grabbed a paper cup to hold the steamy liquid while he snatched the drying pots up. Dry or not, they'd have to do their job.

Unfortunately, on the way back to the machines to put the pots in, Sam slipped on a wad of whipped cream (that Dean guy!) and wiped out. Both of the coffee pots split clean in two, and his nose began to gush blood. Of course, there were no other coffee pots or any tissues for that matter, so Sam was forced to change the cups on a 10 second basis and stuff paper towel into both nostrils while customers continued to pour in.

What was taking Dean so long? He'd been in the manager's office forever. Sam was considering barging in on their meeting and telling the guy to get the heck out here because he needed help, but he stopped himself. These customers needed him, and first impressions were everything. A small nosebleed was no reason to fuss, he decided as blood dribbled down his chin and into his mouth as he changed the paper towels in his nostrils for the tenth time. He would prevail. He would be employee of the month.

"Next!" He shouted as the line moved on.

"Coffee with a shot of whiskey," a rugged man in a vest and baseball cap barked.

"Sure thing!" Sam told him nasally, "Only I might have to hold out on the whiskey!" he let out a jovial and highly false laugh.

The man gave him the stink eye, "I wasn't jokin'. Whiskey's under the counter. Get me a cuppa coffee with a shot of whiskey, ya idjit... God, service just ain't what it useta be."

A smile still plastered on his face, Sam pulled out the whiskey and dropped a bit into a cup of coffee, "More!" the man shouted, and Sam spilled half the bottle over the cup. "Oops," he said as he handed the man his coffee/whiskey, "That may be 90% whiskey..."

"Pass me that roll of paper towel?" the man asked him. Sam obliged. The man threw the roll at Sam's head, off which it bounced and landed far far away, disrupting a cute boho couple's deep discussion about cannabis.

_Stay positive,_ Sam reminded himself as he grabbed a cup to collect the blood that was now flowing freely without the absorption power of industrial paper towel. _You can do this. You're doing fine. Don't worry. _

Of course, things only went farther downhill from there. Although Sam's nose eventually stopped bleeding and the coffee machine ran out of water, he had an even huger mess to clean up; himself. Sighing, he turned to the back counter and pulled off his apron. It was covered in too much _stuff_ to be considered presentable or even slightly hygenic, not to mention the smell. Coffee, pie, and the dregs of the small dishwasher did not mix well.

"HEY! YOU!" a little girl of about six was standing on the counter tapping a foot obnoxiously on the bell, "YEAH, YOU!" she had cute blonde curls and rosy cheeks. She looked like the kind of kid who killed puppies then blamed it on her younger brother.

"Welcome to Heavenly Cafe... may I take your ord-"

"MY MOMMY TOLD ME TO GET MILK!" she screeched. People were starting to stare.

Sam tried to smile. This kid was horrendous, "Maybe you should just step down off the counter... it's not that safe, you know," he tried to tell her kindly.

The girl did not respond well. "I AM LILITH, QUEEN OF DEMONS. I WILL NOT BOW BEFORE YOU, SERVANT."

Sam laughed awkwardly, "Well, then. Huh. How much milk would you like, Lilith?" _smile, Sam. Smile. _

"ALL OF IT," Lilith smiled smugly and continued to ring the bell.

"Could you stop that, please?" Sam asked the little nutcase.

"NOT UNTIL YOU GET MY MILK, BITCH."

Sam got that milk. Well, the little creamers, at least. He hoped that she didn't know about the milk machine that they used in-store. "Here you go, kid. 1286 creamers."

The girl hopped down off the counter and scooped up the creamers in her arms. "Thanks," Lilith smiled almost genuinely as she exited the shop with her arms overflowing with tiny milk containers.

God, this job was going to kill him by the end of the night.

* * *

It was five minutes to the end of his shift, and Sam needed out. The cafe had mostly cleared out by now, and Sam figured it would be alright to go out back and get a couple of bags of creamers to top off the reserve. He served his last customer a medium cup of joe (luckily one from earlier had been left on the counter, so he didn't even need to make it) and snuck to the manager's door. Sam knew he should have been manning the counter, but he'd done more than his fair share of work. Wherever that Dean guy had gotten to, Sam didn't know. What he did know, was that he was going to kick the pie loving idiot's ass.

"Hey, uh, Mr. Manager, sir?" Sam began as he opened the door to the office, "I was wondering what- oh- oh my God..."

What was displayed before him was the answer to all his speculations about Dean's whereabouts. The manager stood in front of him, smiling, dark hair mussed, blue eyes shining in ecstasy, one hand around his beloved _Where to Eat in California _award. At his feet were the pants that were probably too expensive for someone in the cafe business.

And on his knees, back to Sam was his coworker Dean, mouth clearly planted in his manager's groin area.

"So that's how you're still hired," Sam deadpanned.

Dean turned to face Sam and smiled widely, "Tough first shift?"

The manager nudged his boyfriend's shoulder, "Come on, Dean. Let's stay professional," he pulled his pants up to cover his halo bedazzled underwear and shook Sam's hand, "I'm your co-manager, Castiel. Sorry we haven't met yet. I hope your shift was easy?"

"Y-yeah... I guess it was..."

"Alright, then you wouldn't mind working late, tonight?"

"No, not at all," Castiel pushed Sam lightly out the door, where the new employee stood, confused.

"I'll let you know when you can clock out, okay?" the manager told Sam from a swiftly closing office door, "Enjoy!"

Sam returned to his post as sentry, and waited out the night. He was somewhat confused about the events of the night, but not unhappy. He could still get that _Employee of the Month_ award. He could still have his name emblazoned above a picture out back on the bulletin board. He could still-

And that was when Sam realized that his cup of blood was missing from earlier. His medium cup of blood. That he'd served to a customer.

He was screwed.


End file.
